not realize you were asleep. I thought . . .” He did not get any

further, because at that moment the other two clerks burst in

and flung themselves upon him so violently that he crashed to

the floor. Though he offered no resistance, they belabored him

with whatever they could lay their hands on, a water container

filled with inky liquid, Yutaka’s wooden armrest, and a docu-

ment rolled around a wooden dowel.

Akitada suffered a number of crushing blows to his skull,

particularly from the armrest and the document scroll, before

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I . J . P a r k e r

Yutaka, perhaps out of concern for his precious scroll, put a

stop to the beating.

It took a while to clear up the misunderstanding, because

Akitada was too dizzy and nauseated to be able to say much. But

eventually Yutaka grudgingly apologized, taking his embarrass-

ment out in a tongue-lashing of the two clerks, who slunk away

silently. Akitada staggered to his feet, wiping dazedly at some

blood which was running down his cheek.

Seeing his condition, Yutaka sent him home.

Later Akitada had little recollection of how he had crossed

the yard and collapsed on the bare floor of his small room. He

passed out or fell asleep, and did not return to full conscious-

ness until a touch on his bruised head made him jerk away. This

movement caused such a jangling and ringing in his head that

he sucked in his breath and closed his eyes again.

But not before he had caught a glimpse of Masako’s face, bent

over him with an intense look of concern on her pretty features.

“What happened to you, Taketsuna?” she asked, her voice

trembling and cool fingertips touching his cheek. The gentle

caress almost brought tears to his eyes, and he snatched at her

hand. After a moment, she pulled it from his grasp. “Can you

speak?” she asked.

“I . . . yes. It was all a misunderstanding. Yutaka was asleep

at his desk and thought I meant him harm. He called for help

and his clerks gave me a beating.”

“Oh.” She looked at him from her large, soft eyes, a spot of

color in her cheeks. “We should have warned you. You see, he

really was attacked last year. One of the prisoners went mad,

and Yutaka got cut pretty badly. But that he should have set the

clerks on you is outrageous. We must report it to the governor.

And you need a doctor.” She rose with a rustle of silk.

“No!” Akitada snatched at her hem and begged, “Please

don’t mention this to Dr. Ogata or the governor. It was nothing,

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

75

and Yutaka apologized. Please! I don’t want to lose my job in the

archives.”

She stood, frowning in indecision. Then she nodded. “Very

well. I’ll get some water and salve and see what I can do.”

When the door had closed behind her, Akitada stared at it in

confusion. Something had just happened between them, some-

thing that had made his heart beat faster and heated his blood.

When she had touched him, he had felt a powerful attraction to

her, a desire that was more than physical. Only two women in

his life had moved him this way. He had lost the first one and

been wretched. The second he had taken for his wife. Perhaps

the beating had robbed him of his sanity. He loved Tamako. His

reaction to this girl seemed like a betrayal, and he was suddenly

afraid of being alone with her, of letting her touch him again.

Sitting up, he saw his own robe lying neatly folded on the trunk

in which his bedding was kept. He tried to rise, but a blinding

pain shot through his skull.

He tensed at the sound of returning steps in the corridor

and was ridiculously relieved when the door opened and he

saw that Masako was not alone. The white-robed nun he had

seen that morning in young Toshito’s cell followed her into

the room.

“This is the reverend Ribata,” Masako announced, setting

down a bowl of water next to Akitada. “I found her at the well

and brought her because she has great skill with wounds.”

Intensely aware of the girl, Akitada kept his eyes on the nun.

“Th-there was no need,” he stammered, staring into the strange

black eyes, which regarded him fixedly.

“We have met,” Ribata said, in that beautiful, cultured voice

of hers. “You are the new prisoner from the capital who has

made himself useful to the governor.”

She was well informed for an ordinary nun. But then this

was no ordinary nun. She came from a background as good as

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I . J . P a r k e r

his own, perhaps better. What had brought her to this godfor-

saken outpost in the Northern Sea?

She came forward and crouched on the floor next to him to

examine his head. Her hands were so thin from age and depri-

vation that they looked more like the claws of some huge bird of

prey. But her touch was not ungentle, though certainly more

businesslike than Masako’s. The comparison was unfortunate,

because it made him glance at the younger woman’s anxious

face on his other side. She was leaning forward a little, and the

collar of her robe revealed a smooth white neck. The soft silk

hid the rest, but as she bent toward him, it was easy enough to

imagine her full breasts where the fabric strained against them.

The effort to control his desire brought a frown to his face.

“Oh, you are hurting him,” cried Masako, bending over him

more closely so that he could smell the scent of her hair and

skin and feel the warmth from her body. “Is it serious?”

Ribata sat back, her eyes resting thoughtfully first on

Akitada, then on her. “No,” she said. Reaching into her sleeve,

she pulled out a handful of bundled herbs. Selecting one, she

said, “He has a bad headache and feels slightly feverish. Take a

few of these leaves of purple violet and pour boiling water over

them. Let them steep as long as it takes to recite the preamble of

the lotus sutra, and then bring the infusion back.”

Masako left, and Akitada said, “Thank you. It is most kind of

you to trouble. I shall be well again shortly, I’m sure.”

She nodded and reached for a cloth, which was soaking in

the water bowl. Squeezing it out, she began to clean the dried

blood from his face and scalp. “They say you killed a political

enemy.”

“Yes.” He was glad the story was beginning to circulate. In

the abstract it was no lie. He had killed, and killed for the same

reasons as the real Taketsuna.

I s l a n d o f E x i l e s

77

“What did you think of Toshito’s story?”

This was strange questioning, but he decided that a nun’s

life was of necessity dull. No doubt she took an avid interest in

the people she met. He said cautiously, “I liked him and felt

sorry for him.”

She paused in her ministrations. “You avoid an answer, so

you think his case is hopeless?” Her gaze was intent, as if she

willed him to deny it.

“I don’t know much about it,” he said evasively.

She nodded. “You will. You’re not a man to rest until you

have the truth.”

He stared at this strange remark, but she resumed her work,

firmly turning his head to the side to dab at a particularly sore

area. He gritted his teeth and winced at the sharp pain.

“The girl likes you.”

“What?”

“Masako likes you. I could see it in her face and hear it in her

voice. Don’t hurt her.”

“Of course not. I hardly know her.” He was glad his face was

averted, for he could feel the heat of his embarrassment along

with the beginnings of anger. “If you are so concerned about the